


Floating in your eyes (I don't mind wasting time)

by targaryen_melodrama



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, fluff no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-23 21:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/targaryen_melodrama/pseuds/targaryen_melodrama
Summary: This is unbeta'ed, so feel free to point out typos etc.





	Floating in your eyes (I don't mind wasting time)

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'ed, so feel free to point out typos etc.

If Bucky’s being honest, he gave up on his idea the second Sam had gotten into position. He’s been staring at him for the past three minutes, giving out nonsensical orders for the past five, grateful that his indulgent, patient boyfriend hadn't caught on to his bullshit just yet.

“Lay down.”

“I’m already laying down.”

“No you’re not.” Bucky shakes his head, conjures the dense, empty look Steve gets when he’s in the same position. “Put your head down, your entire body should be...aligned?” It’s not supposed to sound like a question, but God, what the fuck does Bucky really know about alignment?

Sam sighs. “See一when you asked me if I wanted to do the _Titanic_ thing I thought that you know, maybe一”

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe it wouldn't have to be complicated. Maybe it could be...I don’t know. Hot? I should’ve known better, though, with _you_ in charge.”

Bucky puts down the half chewed-up Bic pen he’d found on between his couch cushions and the unused notebook he bought a few months ago when he started getting his shit together. (Apparently buying notebooks is what responsible adults do.)

“You’re not followin’ my fucking instructions, Wilson. I have a一whaddaya call it一I have...an artistic vision. An _aesthetic_. And I can’t follow it if you won’t follow _me_.”

Sam, who’s still not lying down properly, raises an eyebrow. “You can’t even draw, Barnes. Where the hell did your artistic vision come from, huh?”

“Well,” Bucky says, getting up from his chair and walking towards Sam, leaving any pretense of _artistic vision_ behind, “I spend my days looking at you sweetheart, the inspiration comes pretty easily, you know?”

Bucky can see Sam fighting not to smile even though he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m sure the ladies in the 30s swooned at those lines, Buck, but I’m not one of them.”

“You’re the furthest thing from,” Bucky agrees, fingers roaming on Sam’s skin, light and aimless. “They were respectable women who held on to their virtues, and you...well…”

“And I’m dating you.”

Bucky grins. “Pretty foolish decision.”

“Pretty foolish decision,” Sam says right back, but his voice is a little different. A tad breathless. _Huh_. Maybe Bucky can get what he wanted in the first place after all.

“You know,” Sam says after a moment, eyes following Bucky’s fingers, “he didn’t just _draw_ her in the movie.”

“No?” The sheet that had been doing a poor job at preserving Sam’s modesty starts sliding off, and Bucky’s left hand slowly moves down to Sam’s thighs, stroking with a little more purpose. Sam’s breath hitches, and Bucky thinks that if life was fair, that’s all he’d be doing, all day everyday.

“No. They, um一 _oh_.”

“They what, sweetheart? They talked? Studied? Fought?” Sam’s fingers are twitching, and any second now they’ll make their way to Bucky’s jaw and his neck, the softest, best prelude to his lips.

“They一 _Jesus_ , Buck.” Oops. Bucky forgot he was supposed to go slow, forgot they were playing a game and his fingers had left Sam’s thighs and started stroking at other, more prominent places.

“They prayed? I don’t remember that part of the movie.” Bucky squeezes briefly before he goes back to stroking, and almost moans at the look on Sam’s face. “You know I don’t have the best memory.”

“They didn’t一they didn’t _pray_ , they一 _Bucky_ 一”

With Sam saying his name like that, Bucky doesn’t stand a chance. Seconds later, the sheet’s on the floor, Sam is in his arms, and Bucky’s taking them to his bedroom, where they’ll have more room to _draw_.

“Are we not doing art anymore, baby?” For just a second, Bucky wishes he could actually draw, immortalize the look in Sam’s eyes and the stretch of his lips, the smirk Bucky can’t wait to kiss off him.

“Not today, sweetheart. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Sam says, though Bucky knows _Sam_ knows he’s not sorry at all. “We can try again some other time. We have all the time in the world.”

It’s true, Bucky thinks as he’s slipping off his shirt, rushing to meet Sam on their bed. He doesn’t need to know how to draw, and he doesn’t need to immortalize this moment, no matter how good it feels when they’re finally both naked, or how good it feels when he’s finally inside Sam, deep and warm and _good,_ or how _amazing_ it feels when they both let go and fall apart, deeper and warmer and better than Bucky’s ever felt before.

Bucky realizes doesn't need to know how to draw or sculpt or paint to commit Sam's face to memory.

Not when they have all the time in the world.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm in this horrible mcu writing block and i hope this fluffly nonsense can bring me back. 
> 
> Title from Blue Afternoon by Leighton Meester. 
> 
> I am on [Tumblr](http://targaryenmelodrama.tumblr.com) if you wanna drop by!


End file.
